


The White Knight In Suit and Fez

by WandererofStars



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Fluffy Ending, Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 14:03:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15686886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WandererofStars/pseuds/WandererofStars
Summary: When having to deal with the chaotic world outside your doorstep reveals itself to be a struggle against your worst demons, a certain Mr Mystery might just come to your rescue in an unexpected way.This work was a commission requested (and dedicated) to my good friend Star. ❤





	1. 1

It was early in the morning. You had barely slept last night after a slumber party with your friends on voice chat. You joined them in reading a weird story about an insane magical demon that had opened the gates of hell and plunged the denizens of a reclusive town into a bizarre cross between a low budget terror movie and a trance party. Somewhere down the road someone had drawn their favorite ship - the hero and a humanized version of the demon - and that’s when you decided you’d had enough shenanigans for one night and finally turned off your phone.

You rubbed your eyes and headed for the kitchen, stomach rumbling loudly. You opened the fridge and stared at the empty shelves, save for a nearly frozen slice of pizza from yesterday and an empty milk bottle that someone had left in there for some reason, instead of throwing it out like a normal person. No food. Nothing to drink. Not even a slice of bread. Your stomach rumbled so loudly you thought it had a life of its own. The day was already off to a good start.

‘Mom, we’re outta food again!’ you shouted from the kitchen.

‘Get the money from the pickle jar and go buy us bread! Also some milk! And some jam. It’s all written on the list pinned at the door!’ you heard her shout back.

You slowly closed the fridge door, feeling a wave of dread consume you. Now that your mother had injured her leg in a car crash, you knew at one point you’d have to do the groceries. The woman was chained to her bed for at least a month. And your brother wasn’t always home to help with house chores, not when he had both college and a part time job.

You went to check the door and indeed there was a handwritten list containing basic food supplies, the ones your mom usually got back from the market and used to cook you and your brother breakfast.

‘How much should I take?’ you asked, facing the jar brimming with five and ten dollar bills.

‘Around $50 should be enough. Don’t buy anything that’s off the list. Unless YOU can afford it.’ she warned you.

You picked the amount she told you, a bit annoyed she scolded you when she was very much aware you were an honest and obedient daughter. Nevertheless, you shrugged it off and placed the money inside your wallet. You checked the total amount. There was enough to buy all the items in the list and even a little something for yourself. Maybe you would buy that chocolate brand you loved, you thought to yourself, smiling.

You went to your room and stared around at the usual mess, searching for all the things you’d need for the trip to the market. You didn’t want to do this. You had never been out in the streets alone. You hated having to deal with situations where you were expected to act like a normal adult. Normal in your dictionary meaning people who were probably married by now, had a stable, “traditional” job, one or two kids and other things society expected of you once you were over eighteen.

Nothing about this seemed normal to you, though.

The very thought of having to marry someone you barely knew just to show people you had a perfect life made you sick to your stomach. To leave your video games, your fanfictions and your favorite cartoons behind just to prove you were an adult was just too awful.

Why couldn’t society just accept each person had their own lifestyle and that all of them were valid? You weren’t different from anyone else. You felt the same way everyone did. You had similar opinions to that of anyone else on a number of subjects. You liked the same movies. You faced the same problems. So what if you hadn't married yet? Wasn’t marriage supposed to be about finding the right person for you? And why was watching cartoons when you were no longer a kid such a terrible thing? Didn’t people watch Star Wars and think it was awesome? According to George Lucas, it was meant to be a movie for kids. Or the whole Avengers franchise. It was based on comic books. Really, when it came down to it, what was the difference?

You interrupted your train of thought once you had gathered most of your things. You reluctantly put on your jacket and picked up your backpack, checking whether you had placed your keys and wallet inside. You didn’t want to arrive at the cashier and find out you had forgotten your money back home. You absolutely dreaded what you were about to do, having to go outside on your own, having to endure the look of strangers, to deal with awkward social interactions, not knowing which greeting was appropriate, or how people expected you to respond, or how to act if you caught someone staring at you. Or if God forbid someone asked you for an information and you found yourself without a clue as to how to answer, or even how to hide your discomfort from others - what if someone noticed you were fidgeting for no reason and stared you down? - , but... what choice did you have?

You walked down the corridor, dragged your feet toward the door and turned the knob, eyes watering, fighting back the bile that threatened to rise to your throat. Every inch of your body screamed against leaving the safety and comfort of home, but someone had to go out there and buy food. You couldn’t remain locked up at home until you and your family starved to death... _could you_?

No, you couldn’t. What an absurd idea.

And yet, you intimately admitted, it was preferable to having to leave that doorstep.

With trembling hands, you locked the door behind you, already regretting that decision. You could feel the first symptoms of a panic attack threatening to overwhelm you. You hoped you could keep your anxiety under control long enough to at least pay for the groceries before your worst nightmare came true: to have a meltdown in a public place.

 


	2. 2

You had never spared a second thought as to the work your mother had to walk to the market every two to three days to make sure you had your scrambled eggs and pancakes with jam in the morning. The market wasn’t far, but it was still a good twenty-minute walk until you arrived. You walked down the street, having successfully avoided any situations that could trigger your anxiety. Thank the stars the streets were quite empty that morning. Maybe you could take a short stroll around your neighborhood that morning, even eat something at the baker, if you mustered up the courage?  
As soon as you arrived at the market, though, your face fell. The place was packed with people. Apparently there was a major sales going on. One look at the aisles was enough to send shivers down your spine and freeze you on the spot. People were literally struggling to get items from the shelves before they were snatched away by other customers.  
Your heart began pounding in your chest and your breathing was now so fast you began to see white spots. You couldn’t do this. The place was too crowded. Maybe if you returned at a later hour? Then surely you could…  
You felt a sharp pain on your elbow and yelled an ‘Ouch!’ One of the workers at the market hadn’t seen you planted there and “accidentally” bumped the shopping cart on your arm.  
‘Watch it, girl!’ the worker said, not minding to apologise.  
‘Watch where you’re going!’ you protested, feeling hurt when he ignored you.  
You rubbed the spot where he had hit you. The worker was heading back to the market when you heard a gruff male voice yell at him.  
‘Hey! What the heck. You have to be more careful! Can’t you see you just hurt my niece?’  
The worker stared back at the old man, taken aback after having ignored your protest. Because it was a man that was complaining, now he paid attention?  
‘I’m sorry, sir, but she was standing right at the entrance!’   
You turned to look at the old man, who was wearing an elegant black suit, a red loose bow tie and - strangely - a fez on his head. Was he part of a secret society or something?   
‘Really? Is that what you’re gonna tell Joey? That you’re running over their customers with shopping carts when they’re about to spend their money at HIS store?’ he growled, repeatedly slapping a folded newspaper against his palm in a menacing way.  
The worker realised the man knew the manager and recoiled, apologising to you. You took a step back when he tried to place a hand on your shoulder. Your savior growled menacingly at him and the worker rushed back inside, leaving you with that strange old man.  
He turned to look at you with a concerned expression.  
‘Kid, are you alright?’  
You were usually wary of strangers, but for some reason, elders made you feel less threatened. They just seemed friendlier, more laid back and open to interaction. Or at least most of them did.  
‘I think I am. Though I’ll have to take a look at my elbow when I get home.’  
He fetched a pen and paper from his pocket and scribbled down something. Then he handed the paper to you.  
‘It’s an ointment I always use that’s great for bruises. It’s also slightly cheaper than the other brands.’ he smiled.  
You thanked him and said you’d definitely buy it...if you mustered up the courage to go to the drug store.  
‘By the way, name’s Stan. Stan Pines. Also known as Mr Mystery. I run a shack full of exotic attractions just down Gopher Road: the Mystery Shack!’ he said with a flourish ‘You may have already heard of me. I’m quite popular in town!’ he flashed a confident smirk.  
You couldn’t help but smile. The man was quite fun and charming. He seemed a lot like an entertainer.  
‘I’d love to go visit it sometime. Thanks for helping me with that rude man. I can’t believe he just ran me over like that!’ you babbled on, feeling your nervousness return to you now that it was your cue to speak.  
‘Eh, it was nothing. Men nowadays have no idea how to treat women. I swear, back in my days, if that guy had done that to a lady, why, he’d have lost his job on the spot and had his sorry ass spanked hard by the lady’s father.’ he said, realising he just said ass in front of you. ‘Oh. Sorry. I’ve got a sailor’s mouth.’  
You sniggered as he smiled awkwardly, scratching the back of his head.   
You both stared at the market entrance. Stan gestured toward you, saying ‘Ladies first’. And yet you hesitated, heart beginning to pump loudly on your chest.  
You broke into a cold sweat and your breathing had become accelerated once again. Your face was now pale as you stared at the savage crowd in there. You stared back at Stan with pleading eyes. He noticed the change on your expression and his smile faltered.   
He approached you and placed a hand on your shoulder. You could feel its warmth under your jacket.  
‘Hey. What’s the matter, kid?’ he asked kindly.  
You couldn’t even tell your mother you had panic attacks, let alone a stranger. You had been dealing with your crippling anxiety for years now all by yourself. Not even your online friends were able to help you. Sure, you had a good laugh now and then, and it helped you face another day. But that was very different from confiding something so personal to people you only knew online.   
The truth was... you were tired. Tired of having to cope with this by yourself. As if this condition were a dark shadow hovering over you and preventing you from having a normal life. At that moment, Stan, with his sunny disposition and having ushered so readily in your defense, made you feel like, for the first time in many years, you could open up your heart.  
‘You see, I have a...a c-condition.’ you said in a trembling voice.  
‘Condition?’ he repeated, still in a gentle tone.  
You swallowed hard, nodding, eyes watering. You then took a deep breath and explained all about your anxiety. The feeling of dizziness when you were surrounded by a crowd, of seeing white spots, as if you were about to faint, the constant headaches, the times when your heart started throbbing violently, the sleepless nights, followed by whole days when you felt too tired to do anything…  
And above all, having to deal with this all by yourself.  
Stan stared back at you, a look of pity on his face.   
‘Sounds horrible!’ he blurted out ‘Ah, this reminds me of my time as a traveling salesman. I was broke, I had nowhere to crash and I barely got any decent sleep, 'cause I had to keep a constant look over my shoulder in case the poli - er, I mean, tax collectors - came after me.’ he corrected in time. ‘I was really paranoid back in those days. Didn't know who to trust. Anyone could be an undercover agent. Uh, I mean...' he decided to change the subject 'But...you’re just a girl. Or a young woman, I can’t really tell with your generation. You all look young to me.’ you snorted at this ‘You shouldn’t have to cope with such problems.’  
‘Well, I don’t know when it started, but going out for me feels like torture. I just...I just feel helpless sometimes. Like a situation will come up, something I don’t expect, but which is perfectly normal for other people, and I won’t be able to handle it, you know?’  
He scratched his chin, thinking about what you said. He had heard of this before. Hadn’t an aunt of his died run over by a car because she panicked for no reason? Maybe it ran in the family, he wasn’t sure. His memory wasn’t quite what it used to be. He’d have to ask Poindexter once he got home.  
‘And you’ve never told this to anyone? Not even your ma?’ he asked.  
You shook your head, wringing your hands. You feared that, after hearing your confession, he would act like any normal person would: wish you good luck and then leave you alone with your problems, proceeding to do their groceries, when…  
Stan removed his fez and placed it on your head. He then gave you a gentle pat.  
‘Kid, I like you. What d’you say we get the hell outta this place and you come have breakfast at the shack? I’ll make you some pancakes. Plus, we can return later, when the market isn’t so crowded. I’ll give you a ride.’ he smirked.  
You knew better than to accept an invitation from an old man out of the blue when Stan mentioned his niece and nephew would love to meet you. He then extended his palm to you, that smirk never leaving his face.  
You took another glance at the market and saw some customers had started a fight over something as stupid as a bottle of yogurt. Feeling the panic rise again, you readily took Stan’s hand and let him guide you toward the Stan Mobile. You just hoped this wouldn’t take too long or your mother would be furious once you returned home.


	3. 3

**Many hours later…**

‘Mom, I’m home!’

‘[_______]? Is that you? Come in here, now!’ you heard her shout back, sounding angry.

_Oh, boy. This is gonna be great._ you thought, bracing yourself.

You placed the groceries on the kitchen counter and removed your backpack, dropping it on the sofa. Your brother was back from work, watching TV. He warned you against mother’s foul mood with an ominous glance. You braced yourself and entered your mom’s room. She didn’t exactly look furious. She wore a scowl and frowned, concerned etched on her face.

‘What On EARTH took you this long? I was about to ask your brother to call the police! You scared us!’

Strangely, you felt her complaint didn’t affect your mood as much as it usually did. It was as if today’s events had shielded you from her usual bad mood.

You shrugged off her concern and merely replied: ‘I’ll sort out the groceries. There’s chocolate ice cream.’

You turned your back to the room when she called you back. ‘Young lady, where are you going? You didn’t tell me where you were all morning!’

‘I’ll be back in a moment. That ice cream will melt.’ you replied coolly, not bothering to throw her another glance.

She still called you once or twice, but you marched toward the kitchen, feeling nothing in the world could burst that happy bubble inside your chest. Your brother stared at you with something of admiration on his face. It was the first time he saw you blatantly ignore one of mother’s hissy fits.

He followed you to the kitchen and helped you store some of the groceries in the fridge. Then he offered to cook the scrambled eggs while you baked the pancakes. You had gotten some bacon as well and he offered to fry it. You cooked side by side, frying pans in hand as you told him of the fun morning you had with the Pines family.

You told him of how Stan welcomed you to the shack. How you chatted away in the kitchen about the adventures he had that Summer with his niece and nephew as he watched you eat the pancakes. How you met the young twins and had fun playing DDMD with the boy, while the girl dragged you to sing karaoke with her (annoying her grunkle to no end). And how she started working on a sweater for you. Why, you even got to pet a pig and befriended Wendy and Soos, the two people who worked for Stan.

‘Stan Pines? are you talking about that eccentric con man who runs a tourist trap in the woods?’ he asked, flabbergasted ‘Did he make you buy anything? Wait. You didn’t actually spend any money buying the junk he sells, did you?’

‘Actually, he’s quite the family man. He looks after his niece and nephew all by himself. He even bakes them pancakes for breakfast.’ you said, proudly ‘Plus, he gave me a bobblehead and a shirt for free.’

You resumed your narration of today’s events. After enjoying the rest of the morning with the Pines, Stan gave you a lift to the market. Thankfully, the place wasn’t crowded anymore. The two of you did groceries together, with Stan serving as your chaperone. One time you had to split up and a burly man tried to bully you out of his way when Stan, who had watched the scene from afar, went after him and, in a fit of rage, threw a left hook at his chin.

Your brother’s chin fell to the ground. ‘Isn’t he, like, seventy?’

‘He is. But he almost knocked the guy cold.’ you said ‘After he did that, someone called the store’s owner - that Joey fella - but he just told the customer to get lost. Apparently he had been bullying people for a while now. So Stan actually did his friend a favor.’

As you told him about the rest of the day, of how Stan gave you a ride home and said you would always be welcome back at the shack, your brother couldn’t help but throw you surprised glances.

‘Who’d have thought! You’re usually so shy! It seems you made a lot of friends today. Make sure you go back to get that sweater. If you want, I can go with you. I kinda like this Stan guy. He doesn’t seem to be the con man I’ve heard people in town call him.’ he added.

‘No, he isn’t.’ you agreed, glad to introduce your brother to the Pines. As you flipped the pancake, you hummed your favorite tune under your breath. You looked up and stared at the buildings and the street outside bathed by sunset, realising with a hint of happiness that, for the first time in years, you looked forward to leave your doorstep tomorrow, and on the many days that would follow.

 


End file.
